


The Map of Your Body

by Mariyekos



Series: Dimidue Week 2019 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Timeskip, Pre-Monastery, Pre-Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariyekos/pseuds/Mariyekos
Summary: One of the strongest memories Dedue had of the Tragedy of Duscur was the sight of a young teen, blond and ashy, standing over him with arms outstretched and a face mixed with an odd combination of terror and emptiness. Standing there as countless swords bit into his back, nearly killing him, sure to leave scars if the boy were to survive. Scars Dedue wished he bore instead.--------A series of snapshots surrounding Dedue and Dimitri's relationship from the Tragedy of Duscur to a short time after the Blue Lions route ends, each centered around the scars the two bear - scars which they earned protecting one another.For Dimidue Week 2019! Prompt 2: Scars.





	The Map of Your Body

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, the last time I wrote two fics for a fic week was in 2016 for Xanlow Week. I never imagined I'd pull myself together to do it again. And for a fic this length. Originally this was supposed to be 3 short drabbles (parts i, iv, and ix) and roughly 3,000 words, but as you can see it kind of got away from me. As evidenced by how it's nearly quarter to 11PM on my first day of classes for the semester and I haven't started any of the (very few) assignments I got today. Whoops.
> 
> But it's been ages since I had this much fun writing, not counting yesterday's fic, so it's 100% worth it. I hope the minor and mild are okay tags! I'm not great at estimating levels, but really the most graphic depictions are kind of what you see in the summary so I wouldn't say it's worth much more. I mean, if you've read Dimitri's dialogue post time-skip, you've seen worse. Anyway, without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

**i. **

One of the strongest memories Dedue had of the Tragedy of Duscur was the sight of a young teen, blond and ashy, standing over him with arms outstretched and a face mixed with an odd combination of terror and emptiness. The deaths of Dedue’s parents stood out too of course, and repeated in his dreams for many years, though he never spoke of them. The mangled bodies of his countrymen and the flames that engulfed the town he’d called his home for as long as he could remember would come back to him as he prepared food and watched fire bite the edges of his pot. But the sight of the boy throwing his body in between the fallen Dedue and the many swords of the Faerghus Royal Guard stuck in Dedue’s mind as a perfect image, a picture undamaged by time, and it was a sight and memory that filled him with guilt. The way the boy had slid forward but not fallen when the weapons hit, head already dripping with so much blood from a previous wound that Dedue wondered if the boy could feel anything at all.

When the blades made contact and the teen slumped forward, they were retracted almost immediately, their wielders crying out in horror as they realized who they had just wounded. Dedue remembered how the boy was silent, biting his lip but not letting out so much as a huff.

Dedue was momentarily forgotten as the soldiers scrambled to find a bishop, shouting for help and running to the teen’s body when it finally fell to perform what first aid they could. 

When the bishop arrived mere moments later, she began casting spell after spell, engulfing the teen in white light the likes of which Dedue had never seen. When she was done, explaining to the soldiers she could heal no more as the human body could only take so much magical healing in one go before it stopped accepting the health, there was a new flurry of activity as some of the soldiers ran to find bandages and salves that could stop the bleeding the bishop could not, to cover the burns that remained reddened and curling, to prevent all the permanent damage they could. It would scar, the bishop said, but the boy could still be saved. Prince Dimitri  _ would _ be saved, she insisted. Dimitri, the boy, would live.

It was then, with many of the knights having run off and the room considerably emptier, that Dedue’s presence was finally registered. 

It was the bishop who noticed him, swinging her head around the room as she looked for windows to be blocked off so they could minimize the smoke entering the building and worsening Dimitri’s condition. When her eyes landed on him she recoiled, jostling the boy in her lap as she did so. The guard next to her immediately jumped to his feet, picking up the lance he’d dropped while focusing on Dimitri, aiming the weapon at Dedue’s head. 

Before the blow could be completed, however, a weak voice called out to the guard, pleading him to stop.

“No,” the nearly-unconscious boy said, voice trembling alongside his body. “Do not kill him. Please. You cannot. Father, Stepmother, Glenn..” he took in a sharp breath. “They all died. But he did not.” A choking sound. Dimitri’s voice slowed and grew increasingly quiet. “Please, you cannot. He’s the only one left. He was there...he…”

Dimitri went quiet, and Dedue was ignored once more as the bishop and guard put all their energy into waking the boy, shouting about how it was dangerous for him to fall unconscious, that it increased the risk of him never waking by an unacceptable amount. 

Dedue simply sat there in shock, unable to process the situation. As far as he could tell, everyone around him was dead. He’d witnessed the Faerghus soldiers slaughtering his brethren around him. He’d witnessed strange robed men attacking Dimitri and cutting down another man with blond hair as he attempted to protect the boy. He had no idea who fought for who or what was going on. All he knew was that the boy had saved him, despite the fact that the men guarding Dimitri wanted to do the opposite, despite the fact that Dimitri's other saviors were running from house to house cutting down Dedue's neighbors and any traveler unfortunate enough to have been in his village that day.

Dedue had taken down an odd figure that was trying to kill the boy, yes. But that was one. Why was the boy willing to give his life for a stranger? Why was he willing to jump in front of five blades for some random person who had protected him from only one? Why was he willing to sacrifice his body, to bear scars for the rest of his life  _ if he even survived _ , for someone he’d known all of two minutes?

Dedue did not know the answers. All he knew was that he owed the boy his life, and he would do all in his power to return the favor, no matter the cost. 

**ii.**

He and Dimitri became close after the prince woke up. As Dimitri lay in bed, under orders not to move and risk reopening his wounds, Dedue would sit at his side, telling him stories and peeling apples, passing the time while Dimitri healed from the physical trauma he’d endured. The mental trauma was another issue entirely. Dedue did his best, but…

It was hard to forget what had gone on when one's body was still recovering. As the days went on bandages were changed and eventually removed entirely, proof of that physical recovery, but the scars from that day remained. Though Dimitri requested Dedue be out of the room while his bandages were changed and while he was being dressed, and only wore long sleeves and long pants no matter the weather, Dedue knew what lay underneath. He had seen the injuries happen. He bore a few from the same day that certainly showed. Dimitri wouldn’t let him see the evidence of what had gone on, but Dedue knew it was there nonetheless. 

It was hard to ignore even when Dimitri was finally let out of bed, still insisting on wearing only shirts that came to his wrists and trousers that slipped under his boots. As Dimitri walked through the gardens with Dedue at his side, pointing out all his favorite flowers (that Dedue made sure to make note of, so that he could start a garden of his own and gift it to the boy who had saved his life and treated him like a friend, undeserving as he was), the prince took stiff steps. He would tilt his head down and extend his arms to point out flowers, but he would never bend forward. 

When Dimitri dropped a book about Zoltan he’d picked out to show Dedue one day, his face contorted in pain when he initially leaned down to pick up the book, straightening with some difficulty before his hands touched the pages. Dedue moved to pick up the book instead, but was swatted away by Dimitri, who shifted into a squat with his back straight, picking up the book before standing. He was grimacing slightly. He would not bend his back.

Dedue did not comment on the expression. He only asked if Dimitri would allow him to pick up the item the next time Dimitri dropped something, to which Dimitri replied he could as long as Dimitri did not move to pick the item up first. Dedue considered it a polite rejection but did not object.

Things progressed in a similar fashion for many weeks. At some point Dimitri admitted his difficulties to Dedue, about how the scars on his back (the wounds on his back, Dimitri had actually phrased it, as if Dedue did not know what those wounds had created) made it difficult to move it. He tried to bend and move, but it hurt, and it made him feel weak. Ashamed. As though his family was mocking him for his failures to protect them.

That raised alarms in Dedue’s head. His family mocking him? It made little sense. They would be proud of him for surviving that day, Dedue believed. Not upset at his doing so, even if he wore a few reminders of it. _Especially_ since he wore reminders of that day.

Dimitri smiled at Dedue for that, a bitter smile that tugged at Dedue’s heart while Dimitri shook his head and made some comment about how Dedue did not quite understand what he meant. 

Dedue tried to make up for his slip by suggesting Dimitri practice bending over and twisting to the side, to see if that could stretch his skin a little and lessen the pain. It wouldn’t be comfortable for a long time, if ever, but Dedue would be there to support Dimitri through the discomfort. He already knew about Dimitri’s headaches, information which had been disclosed only to the doctor Cornelia and himself. He also suspected the prince was unable to smell or taste, as Dimitri tended to make a confused or blank expression before putting on a forced smile whenever Dedue pointed out some of the particularly fragrant flowers in the garden. He hadn’t confronted Dimitri about it yet though, hoping Dimitri would feel comfortable enough to bring it up himself soon.

Dimitri accepted Dedue’s offer of stretching practice. The castle staff still didn’t let Dedue wake Dimitri up in the morning, and he knew they were monitored whenever they walked together, but Dedue would find some way for them to be alone. That way Dimitri wouldn’t feel discomfort at others learning of his problems. He was...sensitive in that way.

Dedue just needed to convince the staff that he was trustworthy. Dimitri trusted Dedue, and Dedue would do anything for Dimitri. All he needed was for the guards to see it.

**iii.**

It became a routine, Dedue waking Dimitri up in the morning and leaving as the prince dressed, coming back once Dimitri called for him to help with his stretches. Dimitri still wasn’t comfortable showing his scars to anyone else, but Dedue didn’t mind. He wouldn’t press the prince in a way he did not wish to be.

When they met for their first session, Dedue found that Dimitri was surprisingly inflexible, not just in his back but in his arms and legs and everything else. 

Dimitri wasn’t comfortable with touch at first. He’d jolt when Dedue rested a hand on him, and shy away when Dedue leaned too close. Thus, their first stretching sessions consisted of Dedue and Dimitri sitting opposite of each other, Dedue doing a stretch and Dimitri attempting to copy it. It was a bit difficult at first, seeing as Dimitri was so inflexible he could only do about half the things Dedue had initially planned. But they kept at it every day, always once in the morning, occasionally once in the evening, and the two improved.

Roughly two months into their sessions, Dedue introduced a new stretch that Dimitri could not emulate, try as he might. It wasn’t a flexibility issue. Dedue had seen Dimitri do enough to be sure he was capable of such a stretch. It was that Dimitri couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the pose, and grew frustrated as he tried and failed to copy what Dedue was doing across from him.

Dedue considered abandoning the pose altogether when Dimitri asked something that took Dedue by surprise.

“Could you move me into the position? I know I am capable of doing it, but I simply...cannot work out how to maneuver myself into it.”

Dimitri was blushing, occasionally aiming glances at Dedue’s eyes but mostly hiding behind the curtain of his bangs.

Dedue nearly ten seconds to respond, utterly taken aback by the request. 

Dimitri...was willing to let Dedue touch him? To  _ move _ him?

Once Dedue processed the question, he rose to his feet and bowed. “Of course, your highness.”

His touches were gentle, and though Dimitri didn’t exactly lean into the touch, he didn’t instruct Dedue to stop either. As such it only took a few soft nudges and slow pulls before Dimitri made it into the position Dedue had suggested. He wore a smile once he was done.

When Dedue smiled back, Dimitri let out a cough. “Wow!” he said, chuckling with a slight nervous tilt. “What a stretch.”

“Indeed.”

They finished their stretches a short time after and left for the day, taking another stroll through the garden. It was a silent stroll at first, the two simply appreciating the nature around them, past the point of friendship where they felt it necessary to maintain constant conversation to preserve their relationship. And, Dedue noticed, finally close enough that Dimitri didn’t stay as far away as he had before, willing to lean toward Dedue to point out a flower on Dedue’s side of the path. They even brushed sleeves at one point without Dimitri pulling back as if he had been burned.

Dedue found it exceedingly difficult to keep a smile from forming at that, but managed to maintain his neutral expression to save Dimitri the embarrassment.

When the bells rang and signaled it was time for Dimitri to go to the audience chamber, Dedue placed a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. The prince still made a slight pause at the surprise contact, but it was nowhere near as violent as it had been when they had first met.

“May we take a quick detour, your highness?”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

Weaving their way through the gardens, the two made their way to a corner blocked-off by an old shed, the wood wet and starting to decay. Dedue took a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the rusted lock on the door, opening it and walking inside. The shed had only three sides, the side opposite the door open to the air. And there, in the dirt across from him, was a small garden.

He heard a small gasp as Dimitri pushed through, throwing himself down to kneel in the mud and gaze at the small flowers that were planted there.

Dimitri looked up to Dedue in awe. “You…”

“When we first walked through the gardens, you told me which flowers were your favorites. I made a list of them and went to the gardeners to ask for seeds after, and planted them here once they allowed me this corner. These are only the fast-growing ones. There are a few that I’ve planted that still haven’t sprouted, and those bright green ones in the top-right corner haven’t bloomed yet, but I thought you might like to see them.”

Dimitri rose, the corners of his lips rising. “You didn’t have to do this, Dedue.”

“I beg to differ,” he responded, his own lips curling up. “I know how much you love the flowers in the garden. Though I suspect the gardeners would cut the flowers if you asked, I know you would never ask to do such a thing if it meant they would be gone from the garden for the rest of the season. So I thought I would grow some of my own, so next time you catch a cold and are confined to your room we could cut these and put them there. Or, if you simply desire to have them there when you wake, we could cut them for that as well.”

“Thank you. Sometimes I marvel at your thoughtfulness, and this is certainly one such time.” Dimitri’s voice was sincere. Dedue felt something bubble in his chest.

“You’re welcome, your highness, and thank you for the compliment. It is my pleasure, and something I will gladly continue to do if it brings you joy.”

“That it does.”

“Good. Now we should be on our way to the audience chamber. You will likely be scolded for the mud on your pants, which is my fault as I did not warn you before you kneeled, and I would hate for you to be scolded for tardiness on top of it.”

Dimitri blinked rapidly as he looked down to his white pants, which were indeed a dark brown around the knees. His mouth formed an ‘O’ shape. “Ah. Do not blame yourself, I was the one who chose to kneel. But you’re right, we should get going. I was already scolded for training past curfew last night, and I don’t want to incur any more wrath than I already have.”

Dedue frowned. “Training past curfew? But I saw you to bed last night. You were under the sheets before the bells had rung.”

Dimitri looked at Dedue with a guilty expression. “Well…”

“Your highness.”

“I suppose we must be going now, yes? I will see you in the audience chamber! Or after. Why don’t you get me some new pants? Yes, that sounds good. Goodbye!”

With that Dimitri ran off, leaving Dedue behind to shake his head.

It was good to see Dimitri running and hopping to his feet so fast. He’d been so hurt after the tragedy he had difficulty walking. Being able to move so quickly...it was a wonderful sight.

**iv.**

By the time Dimitri and Dedue enrolled in the Officer’s Academy, Dimitri had long since stopped trying to hide his scars from Dedue. The older he got the more Dimitri shoved himself into his training, working himself until he nearly dropped (or actually dropped, as Dedue had unfortunately witnessed far too many times). When that happened, he would inch or stumble his way out of the training grounds exhausted and Dedue would follow, ready with a clean set of clothing for Dimitri to change into before he passed out into his bed. He was very stubborn when it came to Dedue lending him a shoulder or carrying him, so Dedue was usually set to clothing duty only. Not to mention he wasn’t allowed onto the second floor because of some stiff rule about commoners being banned from the nobles’ quarters, so the two could only ever meet in Dedue’s room. Dimitri’s room was off-limits, much to the frustration of both. 

What it meant was that he would follow Dimitri back to his room and watch as the prince slumped into Dedue's chair, breathing heavily, sitting still as Dedue peeled off his sweat-stained shirt and grabbed a towel to wipe his chest and back as clean as they could be without a bath. Dimitri's back, covered in scars he’d earned (no, not earned. dimitri didn’t deserve those scars in the slightest. he hadn’t earned them, he’d been cursed with them because of dedue), a battlefield in and of itself. 

They wouldn’t talk during these moments. Dimitri would breathe heavily and Dedue would do his work without a sound. Sometimes Dimitri would mutter something, reassuring his father he was on his way, asking Glenn if he thought his swordsmanship was progressing well, telling his stepmother he wouldn't let her down, little incoherent bits of sentences that Dedue never brought up. Those mutterings tended only to arise on Dimitri’s bad days, or the times when Dimitri hadn’t eaten enough for how much he’d worked and was inches away from blacking out. 

Asking why Dimitri said such things was never received well. Dedue knew the cause. Dimitri knew the cause. It was an uncomfortable topic and something they both wished didn’t exist.

Every once in a while Dimitri would want to talk about it. Once every few moons when he had a really bad day he would stumble to wherever Dedue was and beg Dedue to hold him, to tell him what was real, to assure him he was real and that it would be okay.

But those days weren't training days. Training days did not involve conversations about the mental scars Dimitri bore.

So Dedue would simply wipe away in silence, running a wet cloth over those soft pink markings on Dimitri’s back as he listened to the prince breathe.

When they were done Dimitri would quietly thank Dedue and wander back to his own room, leaving Dedue alone with his thoughts, alone with the guilt that never quite went away, knowing those painful scars existed because of him. Dimitri insisted he didn’t blame Dedue. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dedue knew it was true. But the gnawing at his heart refused to leave no matter the state of his mind, and Dedue would stare up to the ceiling until he heard Dimitri’s footsteps above him, and the soft shuffle that came when Dimitri got into bed. 

Even if Dedue couldn’t stay at his side, he could watch over (under?) him from below. 

It wasn’t a perfect substitute. But it was the best he could do.

Of course, just because Dimitri let Dedue see his scars didn’t mean he was comfortable letting others know they existed. It was a bit of a sore spot when they trained. It got much hotter in Garreg Mach than it ever did in Fhirdiad, especially during the summer. And when the temperature rose, shirts came off. Or, for the more modest persons who entered the training grounds, long sleeves were traded for sleeveless tops. 

Except for Dimitri.

No matter how hot it became, or how many shirtless and near-shirtless students surrounded him, he never took off his high-necked long sleeve. He didn’t even trade the black for white when sparring under the sun. Dimitri worried that, when soaked with sweat, a white shirt might become transparent enough to reveal the warzone upon his back. So, while he didn’t explicitly try to hurt himself by wearing any thick wool sweaters, he kept a black long sleeve turtleneck on and refused to take it off no matter how much he was urged to do so.

Felix taunted him endlessly for it. He and Ingrid would always step foot on the grounds in tank tops, Sylvain trailing shirtless, and every time he spotted Dimitri Felix would come up with a new jab. Something about a boar being unwilling to shed its coat, or Dimitri being embarrassed about baby fat he couldn’t lose because he spent too much time in the library or sitting in the orphanage (which astounded Dedue as an insult), or other terrible things Dedue wanted to smack the man for. 

He would never do such a thing, of course. Dimitri would be terribly upset with him. Not to mention that would hurt Dimitri’s image, and increase the severity of Felix’s attacks on Dimitri for having a ‘mindless attack dog’ as he put it. A phrase that irritated Dedue and greatly angered Dimitri. Once, when Felix had been getting on Dedue for nearly five minutes without either of them realizing Dimitri was there, the prince went up to Felix and slapped him hard enough Felix had trouble moving his neck for almost a week. He likely could have healed faster if he visited the infirmary, but all three knew Felix was too proud to get help for that.

But Felix didn’t seem to learn. That, or the pain he held over Glenn’s death and the hatred he’d directed at Dimitri ever since had too strong a grip on him for Felix to stray from the path he was on. Sometimes Dedue wondered if Felix was prodding at Dimitri to find a repeat of what had happened during the peasant rebellion, to find proof he hadn’t imagined the scene and the so-called ‘beast’ underneath.

Regardless of the reason, Felix mocked Dimitri relentlessly. Even though he had to have at least some understanding of Dimitri’s aversion to baring his chest. A messenger had been sent to Lord Rodrigue every time Dimitri’s status changed following the Tragedy, from the initial injury to the first time a patch of bandages were removed permanently to the first time he rose on his own and so on. Dedue knew Lord Rodrigue had told Felix about how Dimitri had been terribly wounded and almost killed. It had come up one day when Felix was ranting about how his father seemed to gloss over Glenn’s death in favor of Dimitri’s survival (something Dedue could not blame Felix for being upset over. losing a family member was beyond difficult. he only wished Felix didn’t have to take it out so hard on dimitri). Felix had to know Dimitri couldn’t have come out of that state unmarked.

But it mattered little to Felix. As did Felix’s comments to Dimitri. Or rather, Dimitri never let Felix or anyone other than Dedue know they mattered. He would just stay silent while Felix went on, or occasionally make a joke about how he would have to wear armor on the battlefield, so it was best to practice in it too.

Dedue made sure to watch Dimitri carefully on those hot days. They would train together for the most part, but occasionally Dimitri wanted to work on a lance technique Dedue couldn’t hope to replicate, or Dedue wanted to improve on grappling skills that Dimitri didn’t particularly care for.

(He tried not to think of the time Dimitri had wrestled with one of the knights and nearly tore the man’s arm off. Dimitri swore never to wrestle with Dedue after that, terrified of his own strength. Dedue wasn’t entirely sure how a lance was a better weapon for avoiding that, but he trusted Dimitri’s judgment. Maybe it was because there was distance with a lance. You didn’t see the face of the person you’d just murdered as close to you. You didn’t feel the crack of bones under your own hands.

Dedue didn’t enjoy it. But he would do it for Dimitri. He would do whatever it took to keep Dimitri safe, no matter whose face he had to watch contort in pain, no matter whose arm he had to rip from their body.)

Sometimes Dedue would tire, or he would sit in the shade working on new recipes he wanted to try out, not wanting to exhaust himself so much he’d be of no help. He would never go far during those times, however. He needed to be close for the moments where Dimitri would falter, where he would begin to show signs of heat exhaustion Dedue knew the prince always ignored, or sometimes didn’t even notice. It was then that Dedue would mention one of the dishes in the dining hall he knew Dimitri enjoyed, or one of the flowers that bloomed most beautifully at that time of day, or some other silly little thing, giving Dimitri an excuse to stop his training before he fell to the floor or otherwise injured himself.

They would then walk off, Dedue half a step behind Dimitri, ready to catch him if he were to fall.

It hardly ever happened. But just in case.

**v.**

As Dedue watched Dimitri run off into the distance, escaping the prison he’d been thrown into for a crime he never committed, it was with a bittersweet smile.

It hurt, knowing he couldn’t protect Dimitri anymore. That the prince was running to a place Dedue couldn’t follow.

But it didn’t hurt when the swords and lances of prison guards pierced his body, trying to get through him so they could recapture their prisoner. 

No, it didn’t hurt at all. He was simply doing what Dimitri had done for him all those years ago. And it felt good, repaying the favor.

He only wished he could tell Dimitri that, that he could see a smile on Dimitri's face one last time. Dimitri had only looked terrified as he fled. Not empty, as he had when they first met. Just terrified, and unhinged, and worried.

But it was okay. Dimitri would survive. 

Dedue on the other hand… he likely wouldn’t have scars. No, scars formed on the living. He doubted he would remain that way for much longer.

Still, he was grateful. The last thing he would ever see was Dimitri running off to freedom. Dimitri running for a better life. It wasn’t quite the same as seeing him on the throne, but Dedue could think of no better man to be the final sight he ever set eyes on.

**vi.**

Dedue did survive. And the wounds did scar. They weren’t quite the same as Dimitri’s. They were mostly on his face and neck, a few showing on his arms and chest. The guards had terrible aim. They had missed his back entirely.

Healing wasn’t a pleasant process. Not in the slightest. But every time his body ached, every time his scars pulled, Dedue thought of Dimitri and knew that it was worth it. That somewhere out there the prince was alive and running, ignoring his own scars to fight for the future he dreamed of. And that was all that mattered.

**vii.**

When Dedue finally set eyes on Dimitri, five long years after they’d seen each other last, he was overwhelmed with emotion. He didn’t show it. He’d never been good at such a thing. But that didn’t mean he felt nothing, or that he didn’t care for their reunion. No, his heart was pounding, his ears filled with static, the slight tug that came from a scar whenever he moved his lip echoing through his body.

Five years, and he’d finally found Dimitri. 

But for all the happiness he felt at their reunion...he hardly felt any returned. 

Dimitri was shocked when he set eyes on Dedue. That much was certain. But that shock was followed by incoherent muttering about ghosts and phantoms and questions of Dedue’s presence, of whether he was real or not, whether he had come back to haunt Dimitri like the others. 

It was tinged with longing. Only slightly, and Dedue doubted there were many people who were close enough to Dimitri to detect the small inflection. But Dedue could, and it sparked at least a little hope in his heart, which had dropped once he realized how...off Dimitri was. 

Dedue assured Dimitri that he was real, told him of his Duscur brothers who had saved his life after Dimitri’s escape, of his long recovery time and fight to find his way back to Dimitri.

Dimitri’s response was distant. He asked Dedue if the scars were his fault, but it sounded more like a rhetorical question. More like a sentence he’d thrown to the air rather than a request for information.

Dedue responded anyway, saying it was not Dimitri’s fault, it was never Dimitri’s fault, but the prince went quiet.

That was their last conversation until after Lord Rodrigue’s death.

Dedue stayed by Dimitri’s side the best he could in the meantime, and he would speak to Dimitri, but speaking was not a conversation. The “would you like dinner, your highness?”-es and the “It’s getting late, I believe you would feel better in the morning if you went to bed”-s went unanswered. 

When Dimitri would stand in the cathedral and apologize to his father for not having killed Edelgard ( _ that woman _ ) even after all those years, when he begged Glenn to stop mocking him for not killing enough imperial soldiers in the last battle, when he screamed at his stepmother to shut up about her wretched daughter and her superiority, Dedue would stand behind him, doing his best to convince Dimitri that it wasn’t real. He’d respond to Dimitri’s mutterings in an even tone, telling him that his father would have prioritized Dimitri’s life over Edelgard’s, that Glenn would be more impressed with how many lives he’d saved than how many he’d taken, that his stepmother had always loved him and would never have called him inferior to anyone.

Dimitri never replied to those things though. He’d just go silent. Sometimes he’d look at Dedue with a troubled expression. Every one in a while he’d open his mouth. But he’d mostly stare into the rubble, his mind spinning in circles Dedue wanted to comprehend more than anything in the world, but knew he could not.

He no longer knew how Dimitri’s mind worked. He no longer knew what his body looked like under that armor. How deep his new scars ran, both mental and physical.

Dedue ran a hand over his own scars, and wondered if he should’ve run alongside Dimitri that day instead of standing back in a selfish attempt to take on the wounds Dimitri had taken for him, throwing his body in the way as Dimitri had when they’d first met.

Would things have turned out differently? Would Dimitri still have his mind? Would Dedue still have the map of Dimitri’s body memorized, a map he knew had long since been rewritten?

**viii.**

After Lord Rodrigue’s death, Dimitri came back and Dedue felt the emotions of their reunion all over again. He didn’t come back to his old self. No, too much had happened for Dimitri to ever become that man, that  _ boy _ again. He flinched away at Dedue’s touch as he had when they first met. He was uncomfortable around large groups of people. He made the occasional joke, but it always fell flat. He often stared off into the distance, looking at something or someone no one else could see.

But Dimitri came back, just a little. He avoided eating in the dining hall, but he would eat sitting side by side with Dedue in the chapel as long as no one got closer than five pews away. He never used the library if there were people other than former Blue Lions in the room, but he would fall asleep reading while Dedue read at his side. He never asked the other residents of the training hall if they would like to spar, or if they would like a few pointers on their technique, but he would train next to Dedue or Felix or Sylvain, and the occasional brave soul who had the courage to go anywhere near him while armed.

He would ruffle the hair of the orphans he and Dedue passed as they went about their day. He would feed the extra fish Dedue caught to the numerous cats who lived in the monastery when there was no one but the two of them around.

He would have tea with Dedue in his room. 

In Dimitri’s room. 

There were no more stuffy nobles sending letters to the monastery to tell them where they could and couldn’t go. No one to stop them. And the tea was absolutely delicious.

The night before they were set to lay siege to Enbarr, Dimitri asked Dedue if he would like to stretch together.

Dedue couldn’t remember the last time he’d said yes so fast.

Dedue removed his armor with care, setting the pieces of heavy metal that had done a fine job protecting throughout their battles on the floor. Dimitri removed his own as well, careful not to let it clatter on the floor. The clang of armor and metal still made him jump. 

In the past Dedue had been the one to take off Dimitri's armor, but Dimitri wasn’t quite there yet, and Dedue would not push him. He would grow to accept touch in time. And if he didn’t, then Dedue would accept it. He always did when it came to Dimitri.

Their stretching lasted for much longer than it usually did. Something to work out the nerves, Dedue supposed. He certainly wasn’t complaining. Especially as he could see Dimitri was still capable of the stretches, something he had worried Dimitri wouldn’t be after spending so long on his own. Had Dimitri practiced them in his isolation? Had his mind managed to hold onto that small piece of information, that small ritual he had practiced for so many years? Or had he simply spent so much time fighting and hiding and on the move that he’d managed to stretch the muscles in his daily life anyway?

Dedue didn’t find the answers to these questions. Dimitri began to speak before he could consider them.

“Do they still hurt?”

“Excuse me?”

Dedue blinked, unsure of what Dimitri was referring to.

Dimitri continued. “Your scars. You bear those because you were protecting me, do you not? Wounds you received blocking the path as I ran away from my prison like a coward, injuries you suffered from because I left you behind for my own selfish survival.”

Dedue’s eyebrows shot up. “Your highness, you were not cowardly at all, nor were you selfish. If anything, I was the selfish one. I thought...I thought that perhaps, if I were to block your path with my body, I might understand what you felt that day when we first met, as you saved me with your body, willing to put your skin and life on the line for some child you’d only just met. I have always regretted being the reason your body was damaged in such a way.”

Dimitri’s expression changed to match Dedue’s. An expression of shock. And then, a bit of shame. “Dedue! You...you did it because you wanted to understand me? Because you have held grief over my silly scars for so many years?” Dimitri frowned. “Dedue, know this. Though I may have suffered at some points, I have never wished you to suffer. Especially not for so trivial a thing.”

“Trivial?” How was such a thing trivial? Dimitri had hidden his entire upper body for nearly a decade because of the scars. “I fail to see how it could be considered such. The scars will never fade. They will remain forever, all because I had frozen at that moment. They mar your skin; they are nothing befitting a king.”

A shake of Dimitri’s head. “They are easily hidden. No royal garb shows my back. No formal wear I have ever owned or will ever own once we return to Fhirdiad will have to be altered to hide these scars.” He lifted a hand to Dedue’s face. His glove was still on, so Dedue couldn’t feel the warmth of Dimitri’s skin, but he appreciated the act regardless. He wondered how long it would be before Dimitri was willing to feel the world without a layer of cloth muting it once more. “Unlike the scars you bear. Yours will remain on display for the rest of your life. I have marred you far more than you have ever marred me. If I am ashamed of anything, it is that.”

Underneath the glove, Dimitri’s hand trembled. Dedue could see the hints of a tear in Dimitri’s eye. He gripped the glove tightly before the tear could grow and fall. Dimitri twitched, but did not pull away.

“Ashamed? Please, your highness, don’t think such things. If you truly believe I was not selfish in getting these scars, if my acts were for your benefit-”

“I do.”

“-then know I will never again be ashamed to bear them, If these are proof of my devotion to you, then I will bear them for the rest of my life with pride. Every time I see these scars I think of you. Now I can do so free of guilt. I will never, ever regret helping you if it is help you appreciate.”

Dimitri smiled. Then he brought his other hand to Dedue’s face, freeing the hand Dedue had grabbed to cup his cheeks.

“There are many ways other than permanently scarring my closest friend that I have imagined as ways to prove my friendship. But if you are happy with this, then I suppose it will do.”

Dedue leaned into Dimitri’s touch, letting his forehead fall down to touch Dimitri’s. “Yes. I suppose it will.”

**ix.**

Three months after they return to Fhirdiad triumphant, Dedue was treated to a sight he never imagined he would see.

That morning, Dimitri had not been in his room when Dedue had gone to wake him. Odd, seeing as it was an unpleasantly warm day, and Dimitri tended to laze about when it got hot, avoiding the heat best he could. So Dedue had gone to the royal library, a notoriously cool place in the castle, in search of the new king. Dimitri was not there. Next he went to the kitchens, wondering if Dimitri had stolen some ice from the ice chest. He was not there either. His next steps took Dedue to the wine cellar, which being underground never got warm enough to stay in for long without a coat. Still no sign of Dimitri.

No, Dedue did not find Dimitri until he wandered to the training grounds, and it was there that the sight was seen.

Dimitri had a training lance in hand, hair tied back and boots gleaming. He was striking away at a dummy, swinging his lance back and forth, working on one of the new ridiculous twirling techniques he’d been partial to as of late.

And most importantly, he was wearing a sleeveless shirt. 

One with a large dip along the neckline.

In a public place.

With his arms and a significant portion of his back visible for all to see.

Admittedly, 'all' was not a very large group of people. The castle did not have many guests at the moment, the public was not generally allowed in, and most of the servants were busy in other wings.

But there was still a significant number of people who could pass by and see Dimitri. See his back. See his scars.

Dedue was still frozen in place when Dimitri finally turned around, squinting up at Dedue under the harsh sun. His skin was gleaming with sweat.

“Ah, good morning, Dedue! Quite the warm day, is it not?”

Dedue was speechless.

“Your majesty…”

“Your what?”

Ah. Name.

It was hard to remember things at the moment, with that sight in front of him.

“Dimitri.”

“Yes? Do you need something?”

“Your shirt.” The phrase was flat. Dedue was having trouble processing enough to assign a proper emotion to it.

Dimitri glanced down. He frowned, but nothing intense. “Ah yes. That. The sleeves are a bit shorter than usual, are they not?” His smile returned quickly. “Would you join me down here? It is a bit difficult to look up with the sun high as it is at the moment.”

Dedue did as requested, walking to Dimitri’s side. “You’re not wearing any sleeves,” he commented, unsure of what to make of the situation. “You would never not notice doing so. Nor would you fail to notice the fact that you are doing so in a place where others could see.”

Dimitri chuckled. “No, I would not. It was a choice I made this morning after much debate. I wished to train, but it is terribly warm today, and I feared I might overheat if I were to wear my normal long sleeve. So I decided to wear something a little less dangerous.” His chuckle faded, and he looked to Dedue like he wanted approval. “Why the comments? Do you not approve?”

“No, I-” Dedue’s breath caught in his throat. “I was just surprised. You haven’t… I have never seen you expose so much of your skin in public. Not since we met. Your scars are…” He trailed off.

“Visible,” Dimitri finished for him.

“Visible,” Dedue nodded. “Are you not worried what others might think?”

Dimitri ran a hand through his hair. A few strands fell out of the ribbon that held them back. “To be honest, I am. The entire time I have been out here, something in my stomach has turned at the idea that I might be seen.” He looked up, locking eyes with Dedue. “But I made a decision this morning. One I have thought over a thousand times since the night before Enbarr.

“That day, you told me you were proud to bear the scars you received protecting me. That you would never be ashamed of them, because they were proof of your devotion. Proof that you stayed behind for me, that you would give your all so that I might live…” 

Dimitri licked his lips. Dedue stood silent. 

Dimitri continued. “Your words have not left me. I told you that you were not a coward for protecting me. That you weren’t selfish. And after much consideration, I have decided that I shall not be a coward either. Just as your scars are proof of your devotion to me, my scars will be proof of my devotion to you. I am not...fully comfortable with showing them. I don’t have any intention of baring them in public any time soon. But I don’t intend to hide them either. Not here, in this castle, surrounded by those I trust. Those who trust you. In time I may come around somewhat but...I believe this progress will do for now. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Dedue breathed, placing one hand on each of Dimitri’s arms. He felt no recoil under his touch. Dimitri was coming back, little by little. “It’s wonderful.”

Dimitri’s smile widened into one of the brightest things Dedue had ever seen. He was overcome.

“I am glad. Your opinion is all that matters,” Dimitri said in a soft voice, blowing Dedue away even more. It really was wonderful. And so much more, but...words had never Dedue’s strong suit. All he knew was that he loved it. 

The two pulled apart when the sound of bells filled the air, signaling it was time for Dimitri to head to the audience chamber.

Dimitri sighed. “Unfortunately, it seems we will have to continue this another time. For now, I need to put on innumerable robes and sit in what I believe to be the hottest room in the entire castle. Which will certainly not be made more pleasant by the layer of sweat I have accumulated…”

Dedue picked up Dimitri’s lance and placed it in the rack that held the training ground’s other practice weapons. “I can grab a wet cloth if you would like. Shall I meet you in your room?”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “I’ll likely be late if I have to sit for that.”

Dedue matched the expression. “Would you rather be sweaty and on time, than clean and late?”

“Never!”

The two laughed and went on their ways, Dedue heading for a cloth and cool water, and Dimitri heading for his room. They would meet up soon enough. And when they did, Dedue would run his hands over the many scars Dimitri had gathered during the five long years they had been apart, passing the cloth over Dimitri’s body with a gentle touch he reserved for him, and him alone. Brushing over scars he did not recognize. Scars whose stories he did not yet know.

But that was fine. Dimitri would tell Dedue the stories one day, plotting out the map of his body until Dedue knew it better than he knew the positions of the stars in the sky. Better than he knew the scars of his own body, which had taunted him until Dimitri ran his own fingers over the light marks, promising him it was okay, that he was not hated for wearing them.

Dedue's scars no longer hurt. Not physically, and not mentally. And he was glad to see that slowly, but surely, the pain of Dimitri’s scars was starting to fade as well. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Wowie. Nearly 8,000 words of fanfic written in one day. I haven't done that...probably again since 2016. Not for the Xanlow fics though. For my longfic which is on another site. But regardless.
> 
> I was pretty harsh on Felix here but know I don’t hate him. He’s just…a jerk. Especially during school phase. And there was neither space nor reason to get deeper than that here.
> 
> Also, you know those headaches Dimitri and Dedue mention in the game? I headcanon that Dimitri actually did try telling someone about them at some point, but unfortunately that person was Cornelia and while she couldn't kill Dimitri without being suspicious, she could ensure he didn't get proper treatment or medication for his head wound so he'd suffer for the rest of his life. ...What a happy thought!
> 
> Oh, and one last thing. There are nine sections to represent the nine years Dimitri and Dedue have been together by the end of the game. These sections don't correspond one to each year, but that's why I split it like that so I hope it worked!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read this! All kudos and comments are appreciated if you have the time! It was a joy to write :)


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